


when we collide (we come together)

by founders



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Blowjobs, Christmas, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, M/M, Rimming, Secret Santa, Spanking, a very vague white house au, don't have sex with your boss folks, why did i write christmas fic in april
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/founders/pseuds/founders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His thing with Jefferson is weird and inexplicable and he can’t really pinpoint when it started. Well, he can: it started when Alexander pushed him into a supply cupboard and promptly dropped to his knees."</p><p>.</p><p>[author name used to be rosenbergs]</p>
            </blockquote>





	when we collide (we come together)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamiltrashed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/gifts).



> inspired hugely by the work of [hamiltrashed](http://archiveofourown.org/users/s0urw0lf/pseuds/hamiltrashed)
> 
> p.s. the title is a very thinly veiled pun about orgasms. thank u biffy clyro for that one

Alexander doesn’t celebrate Christmas, really. He was never brought up with any particular religion, they were too poor to really bother, and once his father left, his mother died, his brother abandoned him, and his cousin committed suicide... Well. He didn’t think that God cared about him, after all that.

Upon arriving in the States and being barraged by a million twinkling lights and people dressed up like Santa on every street corner, it’s hard for him not to indulge a little. It helps that Laurens and Lafayette are practically elves of the big guy himself and they corral Alexander and poor, put upon Hercules until they give in and wear matching ugly-as-sin sweaters.

It lifts Alexander’s spirits somewhat to see Jefferson, Head of Department Staff, be forced into a sweater of his own, a hideous bright red affair with several poofy pom poms that looks scratchy as hell, if Jefferson’s scowl is anything to go by. It fills Alexander with vicious glee to watch him stalk around the office in his thousand dollar pressed pants and shiny Oxford shoes paired with a fucking monstrous jumper knitted into existence by the devil’s hands themselves: aka, Hercules Mulligan, asshole extraordinaire. Alexander’s incredibly happy that Herc is his friend and not his enemy; his own gross sweater is made out of the softest material Alexander has ever had the pleasure of putting on his body.

The only downside, Alexander thinks as he furiously scribbles his way through piles of paperwork, is that Lafayette has taken to stringing up mistletoe everywhere and anywhere his lanky arms can reach. It incenses Alexander, all five feet and seven inches of him, that he can’t reach up and tear the stuff down himself. Which is why he’s trying file a formal complaint with HR, slugging his way through what seems like miles and miles of paperwork when he could be getting smashed with his friends like every other Friday night.

He finishes the last pink slip, his hand cramping slightly, and he paperclips the whole stack together and shoves them in a folder, _finally_ pushing away from his desk and gathering his stuff. Everyone else’s desks are dark, just him and his desk lamp casting shadows across the office floor. It’s a ball ache to work in cramped quarters like this but they’re only junior staff and it’s the fucking _White House_ so it’s not like he can really complain. It’s even more of a ball ache for Gavin who’s paralysed from the waist down and has to maneuver his way around everything in a wheelchair. Alexander shakes his head: they really need better disabled access in this place. He remembers once the fire alarm went off and in the mad rush to evacuate Gavin has gotten stuck; Jefferson had to carry him out of the building.

That had been… Impressive. He doesn’t dwell on it. So what Jefferson can lift a fully grown man and carry him several hundred metres and then hold him for a full hour while they waited to be let back in the building? It’s no concern of Alexander’s.

He hums to himself as he slings his backpack on and pulls his hair out of his eyes and into a hair band. It’s starting to get too long; he needs to get it cut again but he can hardly find the time. He could probably ask Lafayette but knowing him he’d get all French and choppy and Alex would end up with some hipster haircut that Laf would insist is “in fashion” while John chokes on his laughter and takes pictures in the background.

He flicks his light out and walks across the floor, ready to drop the file off on Jefferson’s desk and get the fuck out of there. He’s got to cycle home and he’s not looking forward to it in this weather: it’s foggy as hell and the light on his bike only goes so far. He doesn’t want to get clipped, _again_. Having bruises all over his body is nice when it’s for _other_ reasons, not when it’s because a car rams into him and sends him flying.

He’s so caught up in his grumbling about the incident that he doesn’t notice that Jefferson’s light is on, that the man himself is behind the desk until he clears his throat and Alexander promptly trips over his shoelaces and dumps the file of pink slips all over the floor.

He swears he can feel his soul leave his body in his embarrassment. He _hates_ this, hates feeling like an idiot in front of Jefferson, and it happens way too often for his liking. Give him a platform and a microphone and he’s your guy, a pen and paper and he can knock you out of the park, but stick him in front of Jefferson and his ridiculous six foot two of lean muscle and outrageously incredible hair, even wearing an ugly jumper, and he turns into someone less than useless. It’s pathetic, really. He’s been on more rants and tirades about this man than he can count; John and Hercules cut him off before he can even open his mouth some days, and yet when he’s actually faced with the man. Well. He always ends up on his knees.

“Hamilton,” comes Jefferson’s lazy drawl and Alexander grits his teeth and tries his best to quickly gather up the papers. His hair slips out of the hair band and he blows it out of his face huffily. There’s no point trying to look put together in front of Jefferson, he always fails. Alexander is a hot mess most of the time but next to Jefferson he honestly looks worse than a piece of sticky gum someone would scrape off the bottom of their shoe. Hercules, bless him, had tailored his suits for free (all three of them) and yet Alex still manages to ruin the line every time, ending up a rumpled mess no matter how hard he tries.

His only saving grace is that Jefferson is still wearing that terrible sweater. He takes a huge amount of pleasure shoving the messy stack of pink slips into Jefferson’s chest, no matter how petty it is. Jefferson’s lips curl and Alexander shoots him the least sincere smile he can possibly muster.

“File these for me,” he says mock sweetly. Jefferson glares, picking a random slip and holding it up between his fingers like it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever touched.

“Is this for the mistletoe? You can forget it, the entire office would revolt.”

“But-”

“No buts, Hamilton, just because you’re a grinch doesn’t mean everyone else is.”

Alexander grits his teeth. “It’s _sexual harassment_ ,” he hisses.

“Gilbert doesn’t think so,” Jefferson says smugly.

“Lafayette is _French_.”

“Well I didn’t peg you for the xenophobic type, considering you’re an immigrant,” he spits the final word. Alexander almost snarls, baring his teeth.

Jefferson takes two long strides and tosses all the pink slips in the bin. There goes the last two hours of Alexander’s hard work, when he could have been downing shots with his friends. As he glares at the bin, Jefferson shrugs on his stupid expensive blazer over his crappy jumper and shuts his computer down.

“Hamilton? Are you quite alright?” Jefferson’s voice is condescending and Alex can _hear_ the smirk without having to see it. His blood rushes through his ears.

He’s not gonna lie, half of the attraction is the ridiculous accent. Alexander’s own accent has smoothed out somewhat, and he does his best to hide it, but sometimes it slips out and he can’t help it. Jefferson just flat out doesn't bother. He’s a rich southern boy and he wants everyone to know it. His stupid low voice, slowly dragging out every syllable like he can hardly be bothered to finish the sentence, makes Alex feel like he’s hanging on his every word. It’s shit, is what it is, utter shit. He feels like he needs a shower after every encounter with Jefferson, the conversation lingering on his skin like the smell of Jefferson’s cologne, which is so obviously expensive that it makes Alexander’s nose wrinkle.

He tucks his hair behind his ear and turns on his heel, suddenly wanting to leave immediately. Unfortunately, Jefferson seems to have the same idea and they end up stuck in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. Or, however far up Alexander’s shoulders reach next to Jefferson’s ridiculously long body.

Alexander sets his jaw and steps forward. So does Jefferson. The whole thing is fucking absurd and Alexander feels like he’s going to snap so he turns shortly on his heel and glares up at Jefferson’s smug face, that’s smiling down at him with a strange sort of pleasure.

“Look up,” Jefferson grins. Alexander does. He’s greeted with the sight of a cheery fistful of mistletoe hanging from the doorway.

“Oh for _fuck’s_ -” the swear slips out before he can catch it. He snaps his mouth shut at Jefferson’s raised eyebrows and shoves himself forcefully through the door.

Jefferson barks out a sharp laugh and grabs Alex’s backpack strap, yanking him around. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth.

He feels himself freeze. He knows his face has gone flushed and his eyes are wide, baring all his emotions. He jerks himself away and leaves without looking back.

He cycles home, locks himself in his room, and doesn’t come out no matter how many times John bangs on his door.

 

.

 

His thing with Jefferson is weird and inexplicable and he can’t really pinpoint when it started. Well, he can: it started when Alexander pushed him into a supply cupboard and promptly dropped to his knees.

He’s been sucking Jefferson’s cock on and off ever since. The whole thing is degrading and makes him feel dirty but he loves it so much he honestly can’t quite find the words, which is a first for him. He loves sucking cock anyway, loves the feel, the taste, how thick it is down his throat when he can’t breathe and has to fight through his gag reflex. His loves it when his eyes water and his hair gets pulled on; he loves being used, he’s not going to lie. He also loves being able to take his time, to taste and tease as much as he likes. He gets as much pleasure out of the whole ordeal as whoever's dick is in his mouth does.

And it’s _good_ , it’s so good with Jefferson, but that doesn’t make him feel any less like shit after he gives in and drops down. He hates that feeling, because sucking dick _isn’t_ degrading and Alex tries his best not to let it get to him but Jefferson worms his way under his skin like no one else and it’s _infuriating_.

As it is, it’s been a few weeks since their last encounter. With Christmas around the corner everyone’s feeling equal parts joyful and stressed, and none more so than the speechwriters. Alexander knows he’s only at a junior position but he puts a lot of hard work and effort into those drafts and always gets positive feedback so he guesses he’s doing okay, but with the President’s Christmas speech coming up the whole office’s level of manic is slowly but surely climbing. There’s nothing he’d love more than crawling under Jefferson’s desk, undoing his fly, and sucking his dick until he comes in his mouth. Unhygienic, and probably medically irresponsible, he knows, but it’s the only thing that’ll properly help him work through his stress.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes, stinging from the bright light of his laptop screen. He’s got a blog post and two journal articles due by the end of the week and he’s slogging through as best as he can with his second hand piece of shit laptop that flickers in and out of life at the drop of a hat, more flighty than Lafayette and his endless string of lovers.

What he really wants to do is push the whole thing away, crawl under the covers, and wank off, but he knows he can’t. He’s got too much work to do and the idea of putting it off was fine two hours ago when the plan was to get exceedingly drunk with his friends but that was before Jefferson _kissed_ him. As it is, he’s sitting in his room, listening to John and Hercules chant incoherently while Lafayette supposedly chugs his drink, thinking about stupid Jefferson’s lips, and stupid Jefferson’s stubble, and, now, stupid Jefferson’s dick too.

He sighs and works through it, banging out another couple of hundred words that are probably completely incoherent. Something about Western capitalism’s hand in the consummation of natural resources versus the idea that third world countries’ overpopulation is to blame? It doesn’t matter, really, he just wants to rant anonymously on the internet and pick fights with assholes who probably can’t find their brain with their own two hands, but whatever. If yelling into the void saves him the indignation of dropping at Jefferson’s feet and begging him to let him suck his cock and maybe kiss a little afterwards then that’s what he’ll do.

The thing is, they’ve never kissed. Not once, not in all the time they’ve been dancing their little dance. Jefferson barely even lays a hand on him, just lets Alexander get his dick wet to his heart’s content and maybe puts his hand on Alexander’s head to push him down further, or tangles his fingers in Alexander’s hair to pull on. He pulls out pretty much as soon as he’s done, leaving Alexander panting on the floor with bruised knees and an even more bruised pride. He has to surreptitiously sneak off to the bathroom and pull himself off after, or else breathe calmly and will his hard on to subside until he’s in a presentable enough state to rejoin the office. No one questions Alex’s dishevelment anymore; it’s generally accepted that that’s just how he always looks.

So that was the first time Alexander’s ever had any contact with Jefferson’s upper half, save for a few times they’ve knocked into each other and that very first day when Jefferson pulled on his hair and started the whole thing.

It would have been a lot easier, he thinks, if he had found out Jefferson was technically his boss _before_ he’d blown him in a supply closet. Maybe that’s what makes him feel so cheap, the fact that he’s sucking his own boss’ dick. He’s not getting anything out of it, no pay rises or promotions- he doesn’t even get a helping hand with his own cock, but still.

He shakes his head. That’s not the reason. Alexander doesn’t really have a problem with it so long as no one finds out and thinks the wrong thing.

They’d had a close call once with Aaron Burr and Alexander still can’t really look the man in the eye. He’d stayed under Jefferson’s desk for fifteen minutes, his throat stuffed full of cock, while they talked about the supply of _paperclips_ of all fucking things. He’d spent the entire time with his eyes screwed shut, trying his goddamn hardest not to gag and make a noise, his eyes streaming and spit leaking out the corners of his mouth. Jefferson had pulled him off once Burr left, threaded his fingers through Alex’s hair and stared at him, soft mouthed and wide eyed.

“Good boy,” he’d whispered and Alexander remembers the utterly pathetic whimper he’d gave and the way his toes had curled up in his shoes.

He’d been shaking, after, and Jefferson had pulled out a couple of tissues and thrown them to Alexander, telling him to clean up. He’d gone back to work after that, like nothing had happened, and Alexander had lowered his eyes, wiped his face, and walked back to his desk.

 _It was just mistletoe_ , he thinks as he edits out several typos. _It’s Christmas, there was mistletoe, we were both tired, he probably didn’t think it through_. It sounds weak even in his own head but he’s not going to argue with himself, not now. He has another couple of thousand words to go, three energy drinks hidden in his desk drawer away from John’s judging eyes, and the promise of a long hot shower once he’s done.

And if he jerks off under the spray of the water, gasping out _Thomas_ as he comes all over tiles, then no one needs to know.

 

.

 

There’s no reason that Alexander would see Jefferson at all on Monday.

Jefferson drives to work in his swanky and expensive town car and Alex cycles ever since the prices for the bus went up and he can no longer afford the ride. He knows Hercules would spring him the money, or even John, but he’s staying in Herc’s spare room practically rent free already when he _knows_ he should be being charged through the fucking roof and he’s too prideful to ask for bus fare like he’s a six year old. So he’d dug his old creaky bike out of storage and starting tucking his trousers into his socks to stop them from catching on the peddles; for the first few days he’d forgotten to untuck them and walked around like a prize twat for the entire office to laugh at but, you live and you learn.

Sure, he works on Jefferson’s floor but they’re both busy men. Alexander spends most of his day at his desk, tapping away at the computer and IMing stupid messages to John over in Interior. John works in what Alexander can only think of as the Parks and Rec department after mainlining the show one self indulgent weekend with Lafayette after a bad break up, so he’s a bit unclear as to what John’s actual official job is. Lafayette himself… Well. Alexander has pretty much no clue what Lafayette does. Something to do with French relations? That’s as close as a guess as Alexander can hazard; Lafayette is a mystery wrapped in a French accent and an assortment of colourful clothing.

He’d once gotten very drunk and explained to Alexander his entire family situation, slipping between English and French and making Alexander promise to take it to his grave.

“I adore Adrienne, I really do,” he’d slurred, leaning heavily on Alex’s shoulder and almost crushing him into the leather of the booth. “I look forward to spending my life with this beautiful woman, _mais_ that doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he’d waggled his eyebrows.

“Have some fun?” Alexander had supplied.

“ _Oui! Exactement!_ I will be very happy to settle down when the time comes but until then there are many dicks to suck and many vaginas to enter.”

“Oh Jesus, Laf,” he had groaned, choking on his drink. Lafayette had just laughed and ordered another round and the night turned into a bit of a blur after that. He may have punched someone, he honestly can’t remember.

The point is that he’s not apprehensive as he trots into the office early the next morning. Someone’s got the coffee pot brewing already, a thick sludge of brown liquid that tastes like battery acid and jolts Alexander awake if he’s not already, and he pours himself a cup as he makes his way over to his desk. There’s a stack of press releases waiting for him to proofread already and he’s waiting on an email from the Treasury department about his last speech draft, but that won’t come until after lunch, he knows. Jefferson is already in his office; he’d spotted Madison going in and closing the door as he made his way down the corridor.

Jefferson and Madison are an odd sort of pair. Jefferson himself is an odd person, a mess of contradictions that hurts Alexander’s head if he thinks about him too hard. All his friends have been on the receiving end of this rant a thousand times before but Alexander really just doesn’t _understand_ the man. He strikes an imposing figure, is weirdly well respected around the bullpen, and can go toe to toe with the best of them, but he shuts himself away in his office most days. He’s an awkward sort of recluse, and the only other person he really interacts with is Madison.

They’re old friends, everyone knows. Both farmers, both with large estates in Virginia that makes Alex want to cry just to think about it. Why they couldn’t come from some ridiculous money grabbing scheme he doesn’t know, he just figures it’s part of God’s plan to make his life even more hellish than it was before. No, they both come from old farming money, farms that still run and are maintained by their families today. Alexander knows that Jefferson holds a strange sort of pride in the fact that his farm used to be a plantation and his family, generations back, used to be slaves that worked there. Sticking it to the white man, maybe, but either way it makes him more respected than just being some trust-fund baby riding the coattails of Daddy’s Wall Street money. Alexander’s even overheard them talking about _crop yields_ and fucking _tractors_ for crying out loud. You can’t get more sincerely down to earth than that.

And yet, on the flip side, Jefferson is an utter _asshole_. His words are scathing when he can be bothered to speak them, his charm is slimy but incredibly effective: he holds most of the Senate in the palm of his hand. Jefferson’s job is a strange one, half a step down from Chief of Staff but at the same time not really. He basically makes sure all the departments run smoothly and everyone’s getting their work done up to standard. When Alexander’s feeling particularly vicious he compares Jefferson to a glorified babysitter in his head. But it’s undeniable that he’s good at his job, and he has no problem cracking the whip, so to speak, whenever he likes.

Sometimes he stalks across the floors of their little bullpen with a lazy air of pretension that sets Alexander’s teeth on edge, leaning over an unfortunate soul’s desk and picking apart everything that they do until they have to re-do it with shaking fingers. He’d tried to do that with Alexander once, and Alex, surrounded by his colleagues and thus unable to yell at their pseudo-boss, had pushed back in his chair and ran the wheels over Jefferson’s toes. The tiny yelp of pain had been worth the week of overtime he’d had deducted and the smug satisfaction that came with Jefferson not approaching his desk again had fueled his smile for days.

They have a strange sort of system going in the office, one that's not spoken aloud but that everyone lives their days by anyway. There's even a discreet chart of tally marks pinned to the cork board that Mabel, whose desk is closest, scribbles on daily, and it all depends on what Jefferson’s wearing.

The system goes like so: Mabel makes a tally for every day that Jefferson wears monochrome, but expensive, clothing or a different tally for when he wears outrageously eye-searing colour coordinated outfits. There's another category for a “mixture of the two” aka: a streamline black suit with a splash of colour in the tie, lapel, handkerchief, or even once, memorably, his shoes. Another category goes to the opposite: outrageous costume with a hint of black or white, usually some sort of patterned suit with a solid block of dark colour for the shirt. There's even a category for what has been deemed “casual clothing” but it only has one tally next to it and God forbid if it gets another: Alexander thinks everyone in the entire White House damn near had a heart attack that day.

Alex himself was hard under his desk for most of the day because for whatever reason Jefferson had taken to draping himself all over the copier machine while he tried to bang it into working properly. He’d been wearing an obscenely thin t-shirt, practically worn enough to be see through, and a pair of sweatpants that draped material around his dick, making Alex want to fall to his knees in front of the entire office.

That was a strange day. He’d not approached Jefferson for fear of losing whatever small semblance of self control he has around the man and begging him to fuck him over a desk. Instead he'd gone home and jerked off furiously in bed, two fingers deep inside himself, but it wasn't satisfying.

The point of the system is thus: one can usually tell what kind of mood their boss is in by his sartorial choices on any given day.

The general rule of thumb is that if Jefferson is not wearing any colour, then he's in a shit mood. This, surprisingly, tends to work out well for the floor because he locks himself away in his office on those days. It's crap if you've got an errand to run and need Jefferson to sign something for you because the man will glare at you like he can set you on fire with his eyes if you're in his office for more than thirty seconds, but overall it's not that bad.

Bad days are days when it hurts just to look at him: bright pink and purple, occasionally something shimmery or shiny, always silk or velvet. They're horrific, ridiculous suits and they scream _I’m an asshole_ loud enough to be heard across the other end of the White House. Those are days when Jefferson wants you to _know_ he's a jackass and he’s happy to flaunt it right in your face. He terrorises the whole floor, swishing around and yelling at people with an infuriating smirk on his face that Alexander desperately wants to punch. Those days he manages to escape for an extended lunch with John and Laf at John’s desk, far away from the madness of the bullpen, eating sandwiches with their fingers and playing basketball with crumpled up office supplies.

Most days strike a balance between the two extremes which make Jefferson an unpredictable foe at best, and mostly everyone just keeps their heads down and does their work, trying to avoid any encounter with The Boss. Alexander’s pride doesn't take a hit when he does this: he came to work to do work and worrying about Jefferson’s clothing choices takes up time he could be spending doing other, more important, things. But the fact remains that most of the office gossip in the morning revolves around what Jefferson’s wearing, and Alex usually just barges past whilst downing his coffee to get to his desk, but the past week has been extra stressful for them all since Jefferson has decided to take up wearing horrific Christmas themed sweaters instead of his usual fare. Their system has been thrown completely out of whack and it's causing everyone to have a breakdown.

“It's blue today,” whispers Craig furtively. “Powder blue with stitched on glittery snowflakes.”

“But what does that _mean_ ,” whines Jen in distress.

“It means he has no taste,” Alex interjects as he walks past and hears the group snort.

“Say that to his face, I dare you!” someone shouts after him and he flips them the bird over his shoulder.

Alexander himself only wears his stupid Christmas sweater when he's around his friends and they force him to, so the only conclusion he can come to at this point is that Jefferson has no friends he can wear his horrible jumpers around in private and is therefore subjecting the entire office to his nonsense.

He shakes his head to get rid of any lingering thoughts about Jefferson, takes a brave sip of his coffee, and flips open the first folder of press releases.

The hours pass by as they are wont to do and he eats lunch at his desk, pulling off the crusts and passing them to Ben who eats them without even looking up from his computer. He’s still waiting on that email from Treasury so he pulls up IM to see if John is around to chat to.

 **ImmigrantHam** : yo u there

 **ShowtimeJohn** : what is your user name

 **ImmigrantHam** : what?????

 **ImmigrantHam** : i’m going to kill burr

 **ShowtimeJohn** : lmao the guy’s such a wet piece of paper i can't believe he had the balls to do this

 **ParenthesesAlex** : there i’m back

 **ParenthesesAlex** : i’m gonna chew him the fuck out when i see him

 **ParenthesesAlex** : fucking asshole

 **ShowtimeJohn** : speaking of fucking assholes

 **ShowtimeJohn** : i hear jefferson’s doing things that are setting your entire office on fire

 **ParenthesesAlex** : ffs everyone's got their panties in a twist because he's wearing hideous christmas sweaters

 **ShowtimeJohn** : pics or it didn't happen

 **ParenthesesAlex** : challenge motherfucking accepted

That, of course, means that Alex needs to snap a picture surreptitiously and hope and pray that Jefferson doesn't catch him and eat him alive. It shouldn't be so hard: the office is pretty busy and everyone's hustle and bustle could sufficiently hide his phone if he needed it.

He’s distracted, however, by ping of his email and, _yes,_  finally, the his draft for the Treasury’s upcoming speech is back. He sees that Jefferson’s CC’d himself onto it and scowls. That can only mean one thing.

And of course, as soon as he opens the attached document, he can see strings of bright pink commentary on the majority of his work, picking apart his sentences mercilessly. Alexander feels hot just looking at it, embarrassed that apparently there's so much wrong with his words that Jefferson feels the need to scribble all over it and angry because he _knows_ his words are brilliant. It incenses him that Jefferson took the time to request to read Alex’s draft and edit it himself, highlighting all his text and selecting a truly indescribable shade of fuchsia that hurts Alex’s eyes to look at.

The thing is, Alexander is _known_ for his writing. That’s why he's here, junior speechwriter but a speechwriter nonetheless. He knows his words are uttered by more Senators and members of Congress than the rest of the office combined, which means he's good at what he does, there's no denying.

Alex never had much of a formal education growing up, dropping out of school fully at age fourteen to become sole accountant, bookkeeper, and clerk to the biggest trade company in his tiny town. He basically ran that company for five months straight while the boss was away, tiny scrawny Alex yelling at huge brawny men until their trade prices came down to something he could profit from.

And then the hurricane came and destroyed everything he had built, swept away half the town and its trade for a good year, the majority of the people he knew dead and waiting to get dragged out of the sea for burial. He’d written a poem, long winded and complex but truthful, full of his pain and anger, and it had gotten published. An old lady, the Headmistress at the Jewish school an island over, had taken an interest in him and basically browbeaten him into sitting his exams. She’d tutored him, rapping on his knuckles with a ruler until he wrote more legibly and in cursive, until he could pass any question she asked him and write essays in his sleep. The town had raised money for him to apply to college in America, to buy a one way ticket there when he got a scholarship to Columbia, and they'd all waved him off at the airport, his luggage made up of a few clothes and a dozen books, weighing down his nerves as the plane took off.

If you google Alexander’s name then it comes up with that poem, much to his unending embarrassment. You also get multiple articles he'd written in college, an account of his success in condensing his studies in time to join Washington’s campaign for Presidency, a long list of columns he's written freelance in order to supplement his salary, and even a few credits on official scripts of government speeches, which makes him proud.

So to be faced with this mass of pink shit makes him seethe in silence behind his desk, simmering as he jabs his fingers into the keyboard and revises his whole fucking draft.

There, at the bottom in small font, is an extra sentence. _Please consult with Mr. Burr. -W._ Jesus. You get accused of being the President’s illegitimate son a couple of times and suddenly the guy wants nothing to do with you.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he hits print on the email and his revised draft, trying not to think about how much of a knob Burr’s going to be about this. They work well together, and Burr often spots things that Alexander overlooks, but the guy is a passive lump at the best of times and it’s constantly exasperating to sit there and listen to him hum and haw over Alexander’s work and erase the most important bits.

Burr raises his eyebrows when Alex waves the pieces of paper in front of his nose, pushing back in his chair a little and involuntarily making room for Alex to lounge all over the top of his desk.

“What on earth did you do to piss off Thomas now, Alexander?” Burr mutters as he reads over the throng of pink all over the page. Alex grits his teeth and grins, strained.

“What do I ever do?”

Burr just hums and goes back to reading. It pisses Alex the fuck off when Burr calls Jefferson _Thomas_ , like they’re _buddies_. It’s a level of intimacy that rubs him the wrong way and makes him roll his shoulders, uncomfortable. But to be fair, Burr and Jefferson are cut from the same cloth of asshole so it’s no surprise that they get along sometimes. Alexander is pretty sure that Jefferson shares his belief that Burr is way too apathetic when it comes to his job, which is _politics_ , come on, if there’s any job in the world where you cannot be an uninvolved, neutral party then it’s this. And yet, here Burr sits, in all his glory, crossing out huge chunks of text that Alexander had so painstakingly typed up.

“Did you hear?” Burr asks without lifting his eyes from the page. Alex sighs. It’s going to one of _those_ conversations.

“No, what happened?” he prompts, pretending to be genuinely interested. Burr’s as much as a gossip as the rest of them but pretends he isn’t, which is the worst kind of gossip to be.

“Mercer got a promotion.”

“Really,” Alex says, monotone.

“Rumour has it he slept with his boss for it,” Burr finishes. Alex feels himself freeze, a cold dread creeping through him.

“Alexander?” Burr’s looking at him now, concern creasing his brow. Alex realises he hasn’t responded and lets out a short, nervous sounding laugh.

“What an idiot,” he says, mostly to himself.

“It’s merely a rumour,” Burr says, taking the neutral ground like always.

“Who was it with?” Alexander asks before he can stop himself. Mercer worked on their floor, maybe he slept with Jefferson, maybe he’s not the only one sleeping with him, and Alexander suddenly feels _sick_ -

“Clermont,” Burr responds. Alex can’t help the way his nose crinkles up as he winces, showing every inch of disgust on his face.

“I know,” Burr agrees, grimacing.

“Well, hate the sin, love the sinner,” Alex sing songs and swings his legs.

“I, personally, would not,” Burr raises his eyebrows and returns to the page, scribbling out another sentence. Alex physically has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes so obviously and settles for gripping the desk, white knuckled, instead. Burr needs to get off his fucking high horse, everyone knows he’s sleeping with a married woman.

“Mr. Hamilton!” calls a cheery voice and Alexander’s head snaps around, as does every other head in the room. A boom like that can hardly be ignored and a man like Baron Von Steuben can _never_ be ignored.

Alex grins, his day suddenly looking up. “How’s it going?” he asks and hops off the desk to shake the Baron’s hand. Von Steuben claps him on the shoulder and pumps his hand up and down vigorously, almost jolting Alex’s shoulder out of its socket.

“What are you doing over here, my good Ham?” he asks, curiously leaning over Burr’s head to peer at the papers.

“Mr. Burr is very kindly revising a speech of mine,” Alex is quick to explain.

“Revising? A speech? Of yours? Why, I never, Alexander, your speeches are the best at their most raw!” he exclaims. Alexander feels laughter bubbling up in his chest but he manages to contain it, mostly.

“Tell that to Jefferson,” he says, nodding to the pink edits all over the top page.

Von Steuben frowns. “But I’ve been hearing such good things about you, even from Mr. Jefferson, who I know can be… Difficult.”

Alex manages to stop himself from snorting. That’s one way to put it, an incredibly diplomatic way, but still.

“We use your words more than anyone else’s, dear Ham, do not be disheartened. I smell promotion on the horizon,” the Baron says dramatically, staring off into the distance. Alex’s heart thumps hard in his chest, squeezing.

“Thank you, sir,” he murmurs.

“Nonsense, nonsense, dear boy, we’ve known each other for such a long time, there’s no need for honorifics. Now, I’ll let you get back to work, I’m on my way to find Benjamin.”

Alex nods, smiling hard, and puts up with another fierce handshake and a hard slap on the back before the Baron whirls out of the room as fast as he entered. Alex blinks a little in the wake of his departure.

“We all know why he’s going to see Ben…” Burr says unnecessarily.

Alex frowns. “That’s an open secret, I bet even the President knows about it.”

Burr stares at him. “You really think Washington cares?”

“I think the Baron couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he tried,” and Burr snorts, shaking his head and going back to the page.

Von Steuben is a weird guy, eccentric and loud with a shockingly wide vocabulary of swear words and a string of sordid sexual encounters that he seems really rather proud of. He’s Washington’s Chief of Staff, a move that made many a Right Wing Conservative nervous, since Von Steuben is decidedly _not_ American in the slightest. But he’d charged in to the rescue during Washington’s campaign, whipping their ramshackle endeavour into something slick and flawless, effortlessly slotting himself into their push for Presidency like he’d always been there. Alexander had spent a lot of time with him since they both spoke French and the Baron liked someone to talk politics to in his native language.

He, of course, brought an entourage of his own people with him, including two young boys who he regularly took to bed, Louis and Pierre, and a tiny little dog he carried everywhere with him, Azor. The dog, sadly, is not allowed in the White House and so Pierre looks after him while Von Steuben is at work. The Baron keeps pictures of the dog in his wallet, though, and sighs over them regularly because he’s a little strange like that.

The Ben thing is relatively new though. Ben, who Alexander gives the crust of his sandwiches to every day, caught Von Steuben’s eye within a week of him joining the junior speechwriting team and the man has been after him like a bloodhound ever since. It’s a little scary, actually, to witness the force and vigour a man like Von Steuben can put into wooing someone, and Ben seems a little taken aback but mostly besotted. The Baron often waxes poetic in French about Benjamin’s angel-like qualities and, quite frankly, Alexander doesn’t see what the fuss is about, but then again he’s sucking Jefferson’s dick on the regular so he can’t really talk.

“Here you go,” Burr’s voice snaps him out of his glazed reverie and he hands the papers back to Alex. “A little heavy on the aggression, Alexander, so I’ve toned it down for you.”

 _Toned it down_ , Alex mocks in his head. Burr pretends to act so slick and cool but the guy is the clumsiest motherfucker in D.C.. Alex has personally witnessed Burr fall on his ass at least a half a dozen times on the shined floors of the White House, whack his head on several doorways, and once, hilariously, set himself on fire by being _too aggressive_ with the fax machine. But he smiles tightly and shakes Burr’s hand, returning to his desk and throwing his hair up into a messy bun as he knuckles down to write yet another draft of this fucking speech.

“Jefferson alert,” Gavin whispers some time later as he rolls past Alex’s desk. Alexander looks up from his haze of writing and blinks until Jefferson comes into focus, stood in the doorway and chatting with an intern.

Alexander sees his moment. Slowly, he reaches for his phone and slides it carefully in the air, opening the camera app and angling his phone so he gets Jefferson’s completely appalling powder blue Christmas jumper in the picture.

“Hamilton, what the hell are you doing,” comes Jefferson’s stupid drawl as soon as Alex snaps the picture and he jumps.

“Uh-” he manages and Jefferson just rolls his eyes.

“Never mind, come see me in my office,” he snaps dismissively and turns on his heel, stalking with his long legs over to his office and leaving the door open for Alex to follow.

He shoots the picture to John in a text and also sends an S.O.S before quickly scurrying across the floor of the bullpen, glaring at Mabel who’s laughing behind her hand as he goes.

“Look, we need to talk,” Jefferson starts as Alex closes the door behind him.

“What about?” he asks in confusion.

Jefferson actually fucking shifts on his feet, picking at the sleeves of his sweater like he’s _nervous_ and Alex blinks a little in surprise. He knows Jefferson can be awkward, a little shy until you get him going, but he’s never been that way around Alex. Their shared mutual distaste for one another has broken down any barriers of social niceties and they usually immediately go to the throat when conversing and yet here Jefferson is, _fidgeting_ , like Alexander is someone to be hesitant around.

He frowns, narrowing his eyes. “If this is about Friday…” he starts and Jefferson’s head snaps up.

“Yes,” he says and Alexander waits for the rest of the sentence but it doesn’t come.

“It’s no issue,” he says slowly. “I know I wanted to file for the removal of the mistletoe on the grounds of sexual harassment but I’m not going to report you or anything. For fucks sake, Jefferson, I suck your dick pretty frequently, I think it’d be a bit hypocritical if I went ahead and did that.”

Jefferson’s shoulders tense for a second before falling down, and he relaxes back into his usual smug demeanor. Languid against the desk, he eyes Alexander up and down in a way that makes him feel hot under the collar.

“Well now that’s sorted,” he drawls, “You seem a little, how should I put it? Tense.” He hisses the last word and Alexander swallows heavily. He knows where this is going and takes a step forward, keeping his eyes locked on Jefferson’s, watching his lips twitch up as Alex moves towards him and rests his hands on his belt.

“I’m not doing this if you’re wearing that sweater,” he whispers and Jefferson actually _laughs_ , his nose crinkling up a little. It’s not the superior sort of chuckle he usually gives, it’s something lighter and sweet and Alex blinks in his surprise.

“For once I’m not even going to argue,” he says, tugging the sweater off over his head. “These things are itchy as fuck.”

Alex snorts. “Why do you keep wearing them then?” he asks absently as he runs his fingers lightly over Jefferson’s brown skin, his toned abs, the veins in his forearms.

Jefferson stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “It’s Christmas,” he states and Alex rolls his eyes so hard that it actually hurts a little.

“What is with everyone and Christmas?” he murmurs as he drops gracefully to his knees and starts to undo Jefferson’s belt buckle, sliding his hands under the waistband of his slacks and stroking the skin.

“You don’t like Christmas?” Jefferson asks, undoing the band in Alex’s hair and letting it fall about his face. Alex huffs and blows it away, going to tuck it behind his ears, but Jefferson grabs the strands in his fist and pulls, grinning.

Alex isn’t going to deny the way his breath hitches. “I’d like to have your cock in my mouth right now, but I’m being held up by a stupid conversation about a religious-slash-commercial holiday,” he glares up at Jefferson and Jefferson’s grin slides into a smirk as his eyes darken, pushing Alexander’s head closer to his crotch.

“Get on with it then,” he whispers and Alex takes that as blanket permission to go to town on Jefferson’s dick, rubbing his face against the thickening length still in his boxers.

Jefferson grinds himself against Alex’s open mouth, getting the fabric of his expensive boxers wet around his hard cock. Alex can practically taste the ridiculous thread count in the cotton but it’s nothing compared to the taste of Jefferson’s dick when he suckles on the head through the fabric.

Jefferson shoves his boxers down to his thighs and holds Alex’s head there against the tip of his dick, letting Alex get him wet, licking up and down the slit and he laps up Jefferson’s precum. Jefferson leaks more than any man Alexander’s ever had, and he _loves_ it, loves the taste, loves the evidence of how hard he can get this man, so turned on that he’s dripping by the time Alex sucks the first inch or so in.

He flattens his tongue and breathes through his nose as he slides down, Jefferson’s hand in his hair guiding him until he hits the start of his throat and he has to readjust, swallowing. In the months they’ve been doing this Alexander had gotten better at controlling his gag reflex, Jefferson patiently fucking down his fluttering throat as Alex struggled to breathe. He’s had plenty of experience with dicks before, loves sucking cock, but Jefferson’s slightly bigger than he’s used to and it’s definitely been a learning curve, Jefferson teaching him how to take everything he could give.

The slide is sweet as Jefferson’s cock breaches his throat, his hand tightening in Alexander’s hair as he hisses above him, eyes fixed on where his dick disappears into Alex’s mouth. Alex takes a deep breath through his nose and lets himself get lost in it, go lax in Jefferson’s hold and let himself be used.

It’s not always like this. Sometimes Alex likes to hold Jefferson’s hips down and tease him when they have the time, lick him all over and suck on his balls, pull out all his fancy tricks until Jefferson is so strung out that he whines for it. Other times it’s fast and dirty with Alex gagging around his cock and choking on his spit, painfully hard and clenching his fists to stop himself from coming in his pants. Those times Alexander feels depraved, degraded, just a warm mouth for Jefferson to slide his dick into and find release. He loves it as much as he hates it, feels vulgar and dirty after. Usually it’s Jefferson who approaches him those times, like he needs to work out some stress and Alexander is the most convenient outlet.

This, though, is different. This is Alexander _letting_ Jefferson take control, submitting entirely and giving Jefferson permission to use him thoroughly. It makes him feel powerful in a strange way, kneeling at this man’s feet and showing him how well he can be used, how good his mouth can be.

He keeps sucking Jefferson through it, fluttering his tongue on the underside of Jefferson’s cock and hearing him grunt quietly. The slick sound that his mouth makes around Jefferson’s dick is obscene and his own dick twitches in his pants at the noise. Jefferson is everywhere; his cock in Alex’s mouth, forcing his taste on his tongue; his fist in Alex’s hair and pulling every now and then whenever Alex swallows around him, purposefully tightening the channel of his throat. He fills up Alex’s vision, as blurry as it is, his face drawn in concentration as he fucks his hips forward and bites his lip to keep quiet.

Jefferson’s other hand cups Alex’s cheek and he can’t help but turn into it, this small amount of affection, and it drags the head of Jefferson’s cock against the soft skin of the inside of Alex’s cheek and they both moan. Jefferson pulls his cock out, shiny and spit wet, panting above him as he looks down at Alex on his knees with hooded eyes. Alex stick his tongue out, trying to chase the taste of him, but Jefferson pulls his head back sharply.

He whines, the sound escaping him before he can stop it. Jefferson’s thumb rubs the corner of his mouth gently as he shushes him, the hand in his hair relaxing as he starts to pet his head. It’s uncomfortably intimate and it makes Alex’s toes curl up in his shoes.

“Wha-” he tries to ask but his voice is too raspy, to fucked out to properly form words.

“I want to hear you beg,” Jefferson whispers, stroking Alex’s cheek. “I want to hear you beg for it, for me.”

Alexander is breathing fast and hard, trying to figure out if this is worth it. It’s not like he’s got a lot of pride left, falling at Jefferson’s feet like this, but begging is something they haven’t ever done before. If he’s desperate enough to suck Jefferson’s dick then he doesn’t need to say the words, just needs to push the man down and take what he wants. But he can’t deny the thrill it gives him, the way his throat sticks around the words as he swallows them down, like they want to claw their way out. He wants to be good, to be so good for Jefferson, to do as he’s asked. In any other situation with any other person he’d get a reward for it, get eaten out or fucked raw until he physically can’t beg anymore, can’t even make a sound, but with Jefferson he knows his reward will be getting his mouth back on that cock.

He swallows his pride. “Please,” he whispers and Jefferson smirks. He lowers his eyes, can’t bare to look at the man, focuses on his palms on his knees instead.

“Please,” he says again and Jefferson tips his head up.

“Louder.”

“Please, I-” Alex is breathing hard, desperate, licking his lips. “I need it, please give it to me, please, _Thomas-_ ”

“Good boy,” Jefferson praises and pushes the head of his dick into Alex’s mouth, just resting it on his tongue. Alex fucking _whimpers_ , sucking hard and making Jefferson’s hand tighten in his hair before he goes back to stroking gently.

“You’re doing so well,” he coos as he pushes more of his cock into Alex’s mouth. “So good for me, you look so pretty like this, on your knees, lips all shiny with spit.” Alex sucks again, flattening his tongue and Jefferson’s hips jerk and force a little more of his cock down Alex’s throat.

“Oh,” he breathes. “You love this don’t you, love taking it, love swallowing around me. Bet you can taste me for hours after, I bet your jaw aches, bet you go home and jerk off thinking about this, don’t you, Alexander.”

Alexander whines because he’s not wrong and Jefferson barks out a laugh, sneering down at him. He feels his cheeks burn and he closes his eyes tight, tears leaking out a little bit, as he struggles around Jefferson’s thickness. He thinks he’s just given something of himself away, something private, something he never wanted anyone to know, and it crushes him a little, making him feel off kilter, that Jefferson knows that he thinks about him when he touches himself.

Jefferson’s dragging his dick across Alex’s tongue now, pumping his hips forwards at a slowly increasing speed, making Alex take it. The balance of power has shifted now, the control Alexander had previously given up so easily before is now being forcefully taken from him and his cock throbs in the confines of his pants, aching. He arches his back and leans into it and Jefferson hisses, fucking his mouth harder.

“Yes, that’s it, so eager for this, so greedy,” he’s saying and Alex whimpers continuously, making punched out _uh, uh, uh,_ noises every time Jefferson’s cock slides down his open throat.

“You’re _gagging_ for it,” he groans and Alex swallows, showing him how much he needs this, when Jefferson is all the way down his throat and it’s all he can taste, all he can smell, all he can feel. Jefferson holds his head there, pushing him further down until he’s choking, but he still keeps swallowing, battling every reflex his body is throwing at him to please Jefferson, to have him come down his throat.

He’s not disappointed when Jefferson’s hand tightens in his hair and his cock pulses, filling his throat with warmth, coming with a quiet moan, staring at Alexander’s messy face. He drinks every drop, hating himself for loving it so much.

Jefferson eventually pulls out, softening, and Alex drags it out as much as he can, running his tongue over the head. He lets out a pathetic moan when Jefferson pushes his head away, hissing, oversensitive.

“I talked to Von Steuben today,” he says conversationally as if he isn’t leaving Alex a fucked out mess on his floor, still hard and twitching. “As much as it pained me to do so I gave you a glowing review. Talked all about how talented you are, especially your oratory abilities.” His smirk is sharp and Alexander feels his stomach twist unpleasantly.

“What?” he whispers and Jefferson shoots him a funny look, doing up his belt buckle and pulling his sweater back on.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he replies, looking genuinely confused. “The Baron mentioned you’re up for a promotion, I gave you a boost.”

Alexander’s mind crowds with exclamation marks, forgetting entirely his disheveled state, and shoots up to stand, swaying, as he gapes openly at Jefferson.

“You did what?” he repeats incredulously.

“Hamilton, what the fuck is wrong with you,” Jefferson says flatly, frowning at him.

“What’s wrong? What’s- I don’t want your handouts, is what’s wrong. What the fuck, Jefferson, I don’t suck your dick to get a pay rise.”

He pulls his hair back into a bun viciously, his hands shaking with rage. Every inch of him is curled up in spitting anger, like a cat with its hackles raised, and he’s about three seconds away from punching Jefferson in his stupid confused face.

“I don’t need your favours,” he whispers in fury, practically spits it in Jefferson’s face, stalking out the office in his anger, not even bothering to clean himself up.

He stomps back to his desk and slumps in his chair, feeling hot with pent up energy, clenching his fists over and over. Ben carefully slides over a packet of wet wipes and Alexander stares blankly at them for a moment before pulling a few out and mopping up his face, getting rid of the tears and spit. He must look a mess, more than usual, and they must all think he just got chewed out by Jefferson and he’s not going to bother correcting them. His inbox has filled up in the time he’s been gone and he works his way through it with a vicious intensity, refusing to talk to anyone for the rest of the day.

He’s out of the office as soon as the clock hits five, cycling home in a blur and flopping, exhausted, on the couch.

“ _Mon ami,_   _quoi d’neuf_?” Lafayette asks, emerging from the kitchen in pink ballerina tights and nothing else, holding a slice of pizza.

Alex groans into the cushions and flips around, gazing at his friend. He could ask Lafayette, he knows he’d get what he wants, but he something holds him back. He needs anonymous sex, a fuck in the bathroom of a club with a stranger.

“Can we go out tonight?” he pleads. “I need to get trashed.”

Lafayette raises his eyebrows. “ _C’est Lundi_ , but why not?  _Cur-non_ is my family motto.”

Alex snorts. “It is not, you great big liar, you changed it yourself,” he accuses.

Lafayette winks at him and takes a truly impressive sized bite of pizza. “I told myself then as I tell myself now, why not?” he says through the mash of cheese and pepperoni and Alex groans in disgust before dragging himself up to grab a slice as well.

 

.

 

He hates himself a little as Tuesday morning dawns bright and early and his head throbs and his mouth tastes like something curled up, died in it, and is now decomposing slowly. He scrubs his hand through his hair and stretches out on the bed. At least he made it to bed, he thinks absently, running a hand over the sheets. His eyes feel tired but he’s alert as he glares at the alarm clock blinking its accusing numbers at him.

He washes the stench of last night off in the shower, the stickiness of the alcohol and the lube dried between his thighs, hastily applied in a grimy bathroom as some dude sweated all over his back and timed their thrusts to the beat of the music. He shivers as he remembers it now, washing his hair, the roughness of it and the way the music seemed to vibrate into his bones, giving him an indescribable buzz. The fuck was average at best but it took the edge off, just as Alex needed, and he doesn’t regret it. The guy wrote his number on Alex’s arm and he scrubs off the ink now, wanting to get rid of all the evidence of last night and emerge fresh and renewed.

His plan is to avoid Jefferson all day at the office, but he needn’t have bothered since Jefferson locks himself away anyway. “Migraine,” Jen nods sagely as he walks from the coffee machine to his desk and he grunts, pretending to give a shit.

He’s still so incensed, infuriated at Jefferson for selling him out like that. Alexander isn’t someone who wants to get where he’s going by sleeping his way up the ladder, that isn’t what their arrangement is, and he thought Jefferson _knew_ that. But, apparently not. Apparently, Jefferson thinks him as lowly as Mercer, begging for a promotion with his mouth open and willing, ready to do whatever it takes.

He bashes furiously at the keys of his computer as it boots up, still indescribably angry that he’s been recommended off the back of his _oratory abilities_ and not his hard work and skill. Why Jefferson thinks that was okay, like they had some sort of deal going where Alexander would suck his dick for the small price of a leg up, he doesn’t know. It had never been about _that_ , it had always been something else, and he thought Jefferson _knew_ that. But it turns out that Jefferson thinks of him as a cheap whore. How delightful.

The days pass like this, in a haze of intense ire, and he only sees Jefferson in brief glimpses. He’s still wearing his Christmas sweaters, though fuck knows why, but it probably has something to do with the buzz around the office for the lead up to the reveal of Secret Santa presents.

“Who did you get?” John asks one lunch as he launches the remains of his tuna sandwich unsuccessfully into the bin.

“I got John Adams,” Lafayette replies happily, humming. John and Alexander exchange wary glances, both aware that if left to his own devices Lafayette will probably purchase something entirely inappropriate thinking it’s a perfect gift. Such is the downfall of coming from money, Alex guesses.

John is the one to take it for the team. “What did you get him?” he asks carefully.

Lafayette smiles brightly. “A baby alligator.”

Alexander feels his eyebrows shoot up and he stares at John, his eyes bulging in their strain, but John just blinks at him. Fuck. Since John bit the bullet last time it’s apparently now Alex’s turn.

“Laf,” he begins. “You are aware that a baby alligator is rather different than, say, a puppy, right?”

“Why would I want to get him something as boring as a puppy? No, that man needs some excitement in his life, an alligator is perfect.”

Alex shifts in his seat. “You are also aware that alligators aren’t really meant to be pets. They grow, Lafayette, they grow very big teeth.”

“ _Ce n’est pas grave_ , I know his wife, Abigail. She’s sharper than a, how you say? Whip. She’ll have him house trained in no time.” Lafayette takes another bite of his sandwich and swings his legs, totally carefree.

“How about you, _petit lion_ , who did you get?” he inquires and apparently the conversation about the alligator is over. Alex shoots a look at John but his friend just shrugs, ostensibly giving up on trying to bend Lafayette to common sense.

“Ben Walker,” he replies, sighing, and Lafayette and John laugh.

“Sex toys is the way to go there,” John grins and Alex groans, trying not to think about it.

“I _know_ , but you can bet every penny in your bank that the Baron already owns all the sex toys in the world. What exactly can I add to his collection that he doesn’t already have?”

“That is a tough one,” Lafayette murmurs, abandoning his sandwich to play with Alex’s hair. “Maybe you can offer your services?” he waggles his eyebrows and Alex’s stomach goes abruptly cold. “A night to remember with Alexander Hamilton.”

“What about you, John?” he says loudly, changing the subject. John looks at him funny but goes with it, securing his position as best friend in the world.

“John Jay,” he frowns and Alex scoffs.

“Get him a bottle of Tylenol and you’re set.”

Lafayette pulls on his hair where he’s braiding it. “Don’t be rude,” he chides.

“What?” exclaims Alex. “The guy is sick all the time, it’s a wonder he ever gets any work done. He and Madison should form a club, they could wear matching shirts.”

“Speaking of work, Alexander, you need to take a break,” John gives him a significant look. “You’ve been at constant breakneck speed for the past week and I _know_ there’s not enough on your plate to justify it so that means you’re running yourself ragged a few months in advance. You need to slow down.”

Alex scowls, shrinking back into himself. He’s been trying to forget about Jefferson, writing and rewriting everything until it’s unquestionably perfect, proving himself. Jefferson has stopped CC’ing himself onto Alex’s drafts which is a relief but it still makes him feel tight, like Jefferson isn’t even pretending to bother with him anymore.

“I agree, _mon ami_. There is a time for work and a time for rest and the entire month of December is the latter. It’s Christmas, take a break. Join the festivities.”

Alex smiles tiredly. “Herc and I are planning on decorating the apartment tonight, you two are coming over, right? I want to put up tinsel but Herc says it’s tacky and bad taste and I need you two to hold him down while I put it up anyway.”

“Of course,” John grins, “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Lafayette finishes the braid in his hair with a flourish and a _voilà_ and they both climb off John’s desk to traipse back to their parts of the building.

“Ah, _lion_ , look up,” Lafayette grins as they pass through the doorway and Alex experiences a sick sense of deja vu as he tilts his head and catches sight of the mistletoe.

He rolls his eyes but grabs Laf’s face, pulls him down and plants one on him, licking dirtily into his mouth as John wolf whistles in the background. They’re both laughing as they pull apart and Alex skips his way back to his desk, happy and buoyed by the love of his friends.

 

.

 

The week leading up to what has been dubbed in a fit of political correctness the Inter-Departmental Non Denominational Holiday Party and Gift Exchange, or: the Christmas Party for short, passes in a blur of shopping for presents and avoiding Jefferson in the hallways. He’s short on sleep but he’s feeling pretty cheery now that they’ve decorated the apartment, Hercules ripping down every shred of tinsel and Alexander following behind him and pinning it back up.

He’s managed to get gifts for all his friends, including a strange one for Ben’s Secret Santa. For Hercules he’s bought a massively heavy ceramic slow cooker in a sort of burnt umber colour to match the rest of his red and orange crockery, and a new pair of oven gloves to replace the old ones that caught on fire; For Lafayette he’s bought a tiara and a new feather boa, bright pink, to replace the previous one that got stolen and eaten by a dog in the park; for Laurens they’ve all pitched in and bought him an honest to God real life turtle complete with various appliances that a turtle apparently needs. The little guy was expensive as hell and is currently staying in Hercules’ room because Alex forgot to feed it multiple times when they first kept it in his room. Alex has also bought John a new music book for his guitar, because John is his best friend but he’s getting sick of only ever hearing him play Wonderwall.

Overall, he’s feeling pretty Christmassy. There’s lights strung up in the trees on his cycle route back to the apartment, and even _more_ mistletoe has been put up in the White House, and Alex has been caught under it more times than he cares to count. The worst by far was when he got stuck under there with Sam Seabury of all people, probably worse for Seabury than it was for him considering he’s not the one who got publicly destroyed during several mock debates in college.

He’s also, horrifically, gotten stuck under there with Jefferson again. They’d both frozen halfway through the doorway, listening to the loud guffaws of their audience and avoiding each other’s eyes. Von Steuben had rounded the corner at that moment and gleefully egged them on until Jefferson had carefully leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on Alex’s cheek, high up on the cheekbone. Thinking it was over and done with, Alex had gone to leg it the fuck out of there but Von Steuben had insisted he return the favour and he’d ended up having to go up on his tip toes and peck Jefferson on the cheek, his ridiculously soft hair tickling his skin. He’d made a big show of wiping his mouth after much to the amusement of their audience and Jefferson had glared at them all and barked at them to get back to work.

Luckily, he’s not the only one in the office to have gotten stuck under the mistletoe with their boss, so he hardly stands out, but he remembers it every now and then and it feels like a punch to the gut every time.

He’s been out a few times, gotten drunk and sloppy with a few people, sucked a couple of dicks and ate a girl out until she squeezed her thighs around his head and screamed. He’d gotten so ridiculously high with Lafayette and Laurens that they’d thought it would be a great idea to engage in a _ménage à_ _trois_ until someone’s foot had kicked Alex in the face and they’d had to find Hercules and beg him, giggling and naked, to administer first aid.

All in all, it’s not been an _awful_ time, it’s actually been pretty fun, but it all crashes to a halt when he logs into his email account the morning of the Christmas party and finds an email from Von Steuben entitled _promotion_.

 

From: friedrichsteuben@whitehouse.gov

To: alexanderhamilton@whitehouse.gov

Subject: _Promotion_

CC: georgewashington@whitehouse.gov, charleslee@whitehouse.gov, thomasjefferson@whitehouse.gov

 

_Dear Mr. Hamilton,_

_Upon the praises of Mr. Jefferson, Head of Department Staff, and an unquestionable amount of exemplary work during your time with the Junior Speechwriters department, we have reached the unanimous decision to promote you into a Senior speechwriting role._

_With this promotion you will be working under Charles Lee, will receive a pay rise ($XXXXX.XX per annum), and will be given the opportunity to be more flexible with your writing and choose from a variety of new departments for whom you can write. Having seen your abilities with assisting the Treasury, I would encourage you to continue down that particular path further._

_With the blessing of the President, congratulations._

_Please see Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Lee at your earliest convenience to smooth the way to your new position, effective January 1st, 2016._

_Thank you for your hard work,_

 

_Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben,_

_Chief of Staff,_

_White House, Washington D.C._

 

Alexander feels his stomach turn cold and fill with what can only be described as dread. _Upon the praises of Mr. Jefferson_ , Jesus Christ, he feels sick just reading it. At least Von Steuben added the _unquestionable amount of exemplary work_ to soften the blow a little. Fuck. He shakes his head.

Senior speechwriter. Under Charles Lee, of all people, which is going to suck but Alex knows he can handle it, can handle him, with grace if not dignity. He forwards the email to John, Lafayette, and Mulligan, adding a caption at the bottom that basically amounts to: _I’m going to destroy Charles Lee and steal his job._

He receives an IM from John almost immediately telling him he’s a step closer to becoming Treasury Secretary and a string of colourful emoji’s from Lafayette. Hercules sends him a thumbs up and a simple congratulations which makes him feel warm. He even gets a separate email from Washington which makes his stomach flip over strangely and he has to exit out of his inbox before he has some sort of emotional breakdown at his desk.

He gets a follow up email from Jefferson that just says: _Congratulations_. He deletes it immediately.

Word gets around that he’s moving up and out and he gets several slaps on the back and various hair tussles, and Gavin calls dibs on his desk because it has the best maneuverability. This starts a massive debate on how, exactly, they’re going to rearrange the office so Gavin can get around better that ends up with all of them abandoning their work early and shoving desks across the room while simultaneously stringing even more obnoxious decorations all over the walls and ceiling, ostensibly getting ready for the Christmas Party a few hours early.

Things are in full swing by the time the official start of the Inter-Departmental Non Denominational Holiday Party and Gift Exchange begins: everyone has changed into their terrible Christmas sweaters and tinsel is flying. Laurens barges in with several bottles of alcohol cradled in his arms which is technically against the rules but at this point no one really gives a fuck. Someone’s hooked up their iPod to some speakers and a crude mix of jingly Christmas songs interspersed with the occasional top 40 hit are blasting across the room.

They’ve spilled out of their bullpen somewhat and into the wide corridor beyond, everyone mingling and getting steadily more drunk. Alexander thinks he’d spotted Ben and Von Steuben making out on top of Mabel’s desk, the Baron’s hands shoved up Ben’s snowman themed sweater. He’d turned a blind eye and gone to find John and Lafayette, getting sucked into a conversation with Kitty Livingston and Angelica Schuyler about some sort of fantasy role play thing Kitty’s involved in, with castles and knights and damsels in distress.

Jefferson lurks with Madison in a corner, having what looks like a strangely intense conversation, Jefferson clutching a glass of cheap brandy with white knuckles and looking a little overwhelmed, probably at the frankly incredible amount of people stuffed into the room. Alexander’s attention gets called away, though, by someone yelling for the gift exchange to start and everyone cuts to a mad scramble to find their hastily wrapped gifts, thrusting them into a pile on Mabel’s desk. They corral Jefferson into handing out the gifts, calling people’s names and lobbing the packages at them while everyone waits eagerly to see what’s inside and someone pipes up to take credit for the gift.

Ben opens his book of sexual favours and turns bright red and the Baron laughs and claps Alex on the shoulder. Alex lifts his drink in a salute and they move on to James Monroe who receives a quill of all things. It blurs a little to Alex, still sipping his drink, until his name is called.

“Hamilton!” Jefferson shouts and Alex’s head snaps up automatically, eyes wide.

Jefferson launches a motherfucking huge box at him, far bigger than anything anyone else has received, and everyone ducks out of the way as it comes hurtling towards his face. He has just enough wits about him to catch it with a huff of breath and he glares at Jefferson over the top of it. He could have easily gone up and picked it up himself but no, apparently Jefferson cares so little for him that he doesn’t want Alexander anywhere near him, and that’s just _fine_.

He rips open the wrapping paper and inside is a box of coffee capsules, the fancy ones that make the really good stuff, and his eyebrows fly up.

“It’s from me,” Jen raises her hand and waves. “You mentioned once that you survive on instant coffee at home so I thought it’s about time you went up in the world.”

“That’s lovely, Jen, thank you, but the reason I drink instant coffee at home is because I don’t own a coffee machine,” he shrugs. “So these are kind of redundant to me, but thank you all the same.”

“You can take the office’s, we’re due for a new one anyway, just take it home,” Jefferson says and Alex feels a hot flash of rage shoot through him and he’s on his feet before he can stop himself.

“Did I or did I not tell you that I don’t want any favours from you, Thomas?” he snaps and the entire room goes still, silent except for the tinny Christmas music still seeping through the speakers.

Jefferson holds his palms up. “It was just a suggestion,” he says placatingly, aware that everyone’s staring at them in alarm.

Alex takes a deep breath and turns to Jen with a tight smile and thanks her again, sitting back down and downing his drink in one go. Fuck, that had been embarrassing, and potentially all too revealing. Madison shoots him a strange look that he ignores and everyone else moves on to laughing at the next gift, an eight foot Canadian flag for Myles Cooper who rolls his eyes but takes the ribbing with grace.

There’s a confused sort of shuffle when they realise that John Adams hasn’t been on the receiving end of a gift yet and Alex sees Laurens fumble for his phone out of the corner of his eye and he sends a prayer to the heavens that no one dies in the next minute and a half as Lafayette waltzes forward with a box poked with holes held at arms length in front of him.

Adams warily takes the box, placing it on his knees, and everyone leans forward to peer inside as he lifts the flap.

“Holy shit!” he screeches when the baby alligator is revealed, snapping its tiny jaws, and everyone fucking loses their shit, screaming and climbing over each other to get away. Poor John Adams still has the box on his knee, frozen in shock, and John is almost falling over in his laughter while Lafayette smiles proudly.

In the madness and chaos of it all, Alexander slips out the doors and into the deserted corridor, pushing the sleeves of his sweater up his arms and taking a moment to breathe.

“Alexander,” comes a voice from behind him and his shoulders slump when he realises it’s Jefferson’s. He steels himself for the inevitable following conversation.

“We’re not going to talk about this here,” he says and stalks into Jefferson’s office. It gives him a flash of petty pride to be the first one through the door, and he rips down the mistletoe that’s still hanging up for good measure.

Jefferson follows at his own loping pace, frown fixed firmly on his face, going to sit in the ridiculously complex swivelly chair behind his desk. He gestures absently for Alex to sit opposite him and it makes him feel like a child, like he’s being faced with the headmaster when he’s done nothing _wrong_. It makes him feel small.

“First of all, congratulations on your promotion,” Jefferson drawls slowly, steepling his hands together.

“Cut the bullshit, Jefferson, talk about what you want to talk about so we can both get out of here,” he snaps.

“Fine,” Jefferson spits. “I don’t understand why you’re still mad at me.”

“Because I’m not a whore!” he cries loudly. He becomes suddenly aware of where they are and looks over his shoulder, jumping up and locking the door just in case someone hears them shouting and comes knocking.

He paces the floor, running a hand through his hair raggedly. “Did you think I was sleeping with you to get a promotion? Some weird quid-pro-quo thing that you could laugh with your buddies about? I should have gotten that promotion off of my ability, my hard work, my success, but instead it’s cheapened because you think I sucked your dick for it.”

Jefferson splutters. “What the fuck are you talking about, we never had an arrangement. I thought you got down on your knees for me because you _liked_ getting down on your knees for me, not because you wanted something out of it.”

Alexander snorts. A mutual orgasm would have been nice, but whatever, he’s not going to quibble right now.

“Then why did you recommend me, huh?”

“Because you deserved a promotion!”

Alex makes an undignified sound and Jefferson stands up, hands planted firmly on the desk in front of him. It’s a position of power that makes Alex’s throat feel dry so he turns away, pacing in the opposite direction.

“All you do is rip into my work, you’ve never had a single complimentary thing to say about me, we _hate_ each other, Jefferson, excuse me if your lies are hard to swallow.”

 _Unlike some things_ , springs the innuendo to the forefront of his mind and he grits his teeth in frustration. Why is it that whenever he’s faced with Jefferson he becomes too fucking turned on to properly think? His mind crowds with stupid thoughts about the man and it just fuels his anger, his anger at Jefferson and at himself and at this whole fucking situation he’s landed in because he couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth to himself.

He should have known Jefferson was going to be bad news, swanning in like he did at the elbow of the Baron as he was shown around the place, looking down his nose at everyone like the haughty fucker he is. But he’d looked so _good_ , so tall and strong, and Alexander’s heart had thudded fast and hard when they were introduced and almost immediately fell into an argument; when he realised that Jefferson could be an intellectual match, if not superior; when Jefferson had tugged on a strand of his hair that had fallen free in his fervour with a smug smile and dark eyes; when he’d pushed Jefferson into a supply closet and dropped to his knees for the first time.

He should have _known_ , with his luck and with how much God apparently hates him, that he’d find out Jefferson was his new boss _after_ the whole messy affair.

“It wasn’t exactly easy for me to sit there and talk about all your _good_ qualities, I didn’t enjoy it. I don’t actually want you to have this promotion at all,” Jefferson says, glaring at him.

Alexander throws his arms up in distress. “Then why did you bother with it? The only explanation that I can come up with is that you thought I was selling myself for it, but apparently that’s not true, so explain!”

“For fuck’s sake, Alexander, it’s because you _deserve_ a promotion. You’re wasted as a Junior speechwriter; I know you want to go places and you’ve been left wallowing down here, annoying the crap out of me, for some unknown godly reason. It honestly pains me to admit it but you’re a distinguished adversary and I hate to see you stifled down here when you could be making strides up there.”

During his little speech Alexander has gone entirely still, his eyes wide and mouth open a little, softly.

“What I _want_ , politically speaking, is to see you crushed before you can ever fully reach your potential, but I’ve got too much honour for that,” he continues and Alex makes a disbelieving sound. Jefferson glares at him but lets it slide, walking slowly out from behind the desk to stand in front of Alex.

“What I _know_ is that any victory I have over you right now is tarnished by the fact that you are my inferior, and they won’t count for anything until we’re equals. So,” he rocks forwards on his toes, “Really all I’m doing is ensuring I have an entertaining debating future ahead of me when I make Secretary of State and you make Secretary Treasury.”

Alex’s eyebrows fly up. “Well, well, well,” he pronounces slowly, “It’s all revealed now. You think I’m smart. You think I’m good at my job. You think-”

“I think you should shut the fuck up,” Jefferson grumbles, avoiding his eyes.

Alexander finds himself laughing nervously, suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. He licks his lips.

“Make me.”

He can see the second Jefferson catches on, the way his eyes darken and his lips part just a little bit. Alex goes to drop to his knees but Jefferson catches his elbows and shakes his head, leading Alex over to the desk and pushing at his chest until he leans back on it just a little. Alex blinks at him in confusion, his mind whirring over the possibilities of what Jefferson is about to do, because he’s really not in an easy position to suck Jefferson’s dick unless the man stands on his stupid swivel chair or something.

Jefferson looks at him for a moment, like he’s taking his time drinking in the view of Alex awkwardly perched on the edge of his desk. Eventually he pulls his ugly sweater up and over his head, dropping it carelessly on the floor and stepping between Alex’s legs. Alex makes room for him without even being asked, spreading his legs eagerly, and Jefferson slides his hands under Alex’s thighs and lifts him up, depositing him fully on the desk. Then he strips him of his own sweater, much to Alex’s surprise, and trails his fingers down Alex’s skin, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface.

It’s weird and intimate and Alex wiggles a little uncomfortably, not quite sure what he’s supposed to be doing in this situation. This is whole new territory for them: he’s never not been on his knees, Jefferson has never stripped Alex of his clothes or touched his skin so softly. He grips the edge of the desk, white knuckled, because as much as he wants to get his hands on Jefferson’s quite frankly ridiculous abs he’s not sure if he’s actually allowed. As much as it makes him squirm, a large part of him wants to _be good_ for Jefferson, to please him, to earn his _affection_ of all things, and he doesn’t want to risk Jefferson taking his hands away by doing the wrong thing.

Jefferson’s hand slides up into his hair and pulls, and that’s familiar, Alex can work with that, so he obediently tilts his head back, his breath hitching with the sharp pain of it. His eyes close automatically as Jefferson tugs again, but then they fly open when Jefferson covers Alex’s lips with his own.

The kiss is short, like Jefferson is testing the waters, and the hand in Alexander’s hair has gone loose so he can pull away if he wants to. Strangely enough, he finds that he doesn’t want to. He decides to take the initiative and, raising his hands to rest carefully against Jefferson’s bare chest, he leans back up and kisses him again.

It gives him a slight thrill to know he’s the one to lick across the seam of Jefferson’s lips and slip his tongue in, like he’s won something somehow, but Jefferson quickly takes control, tightening his hand in Alex’s hair and angling his head so he can fuck his tongue into Alex’s mouth in hot strokes. Alex is glad he’s sat on the desk because he knows if he were standing up that his knees would probably fail him, weak as he feels under Jefferson’s careful attention. It’s wet and messy, both of them gasping into each other’s mouths, and Alex manages to bite at Jefferson’s bottom lip and make him moan.

Jefferson must take that as an open invitation to do whatever the fuck he wants because his other hand comes up and pinches Alex’s nipple viciously, and Alex can’t help the whimper he makes and the way his back arches up automatically. Jefferson sucks on his lip and tugs on his hair, biting his nail into Alex’s nipple, until Alex is whimpering constantly and scratching his fingers down Jefferson’s back.

He’d be more concerned about the amount of noise he’s making if he couldn’t hear the strains of the party still going on outside Jefferson’s locked door; the loud buzz of drunk chatter and Christmas songs playing with the volume turned way up cover the sounds of his pleasure quite nicely.

And it’s undeniable: he is enjoying this. It’s a strange sort of relief to finally kiss Jefferson after all these months of not doing it and they both seem to be reluctant to lean away from each other, preferring to try and sink into each other’s skin by being as close as possible. Jefferson’s bare chest is pressed up against his own, heaving as he breathes deeply, trying to get enough air to carry on kissing Alex. Alex gets lost in it: the feel of Jefferson’s stubble rough against his skin, his lips and tongue sliding slickly against his own, his hands travelling down Alex’s chest and making him shiver.

He’s half hard in his pants just from kissing like this, and he moans wantonly when Jefferson’s palm hovers over his crotch, rubbing him gently.

“Lean back,” he breathes, and Alex goes when Jefferson pushes on his chest, awkwardly propping himself on his elbows and trying not to knock over anything on Jefferson’s desk or accidentally break his laptop.

“This isn’t going to work,” he says and Jefferson glares at him and silently starts to unbuckle Alex’s belt. Alex raises his eyebrows but obediently lifts his hips as Jefferson drags his pants over his thighs and down his legs.

They get stuck on his ankles because his shoes are still on and Jefferson actually drops down and unpicks Alex’s shoelaces, carefully divesting his feet of the obstruction and working his pants down the rest of the way. Alex watches him lick his lips, on his knees, and wonders if this is how Jefferson feels whenever Alex is in this position: heart beating fast, mind stuck on how _good_ Jefferson looks like that, below Alex and subservient.

Jefferson breaks the spell by sliding his palms up Alex’s legs, gripping his thighs briefly like he wants to dig his fingers down into the muscle, and then peeling Alex’s boxers off his hips. All his clothes get dumped into a pile on the floor and Alex could honestly care less about wrinkles and shit like that right now when he’s stretched out across Jefferson’s desk, naked and hard, with Jefferson between his knees and watching him hungrily.

He swallows, hard. “Okay, so we’re doing this,” he says a little redundantly, his voice wavering in the middle, and Jefferson rolls his eyes.

“Adept observation, Alexander, it’s good to know you haven’t gone blind in the last twenty minutes or so,” he drawls and leans in to bite at Alex’s hip. He arches up involuntarily and Jefferson presses him firmly down onto the desk, tutting slightly like Alex has disappointed him.

He wraps Alex’s legs around his head, though, and sucks Alex’s balls into his mouth. Alex’s voice cracks around a groan and he tightens his thighs around Jefferson’s head, his ridiculous hair tickling against his inner thighs and making him squirm.

Jefferson is watching him passively, almost like he’s bored, but Alex knows better. Those clever eyes are watching him closely, carefully, taking note of what he likes and how he reacts, greedily, like this might be the only time he can do it. Alexander feels much the same, drinking in the sight of Jefferson between his legs and committing it to memory, just in case this never happens again.

He arches his hips, a clear plea for Jefferson to sink his mouth around him, but Jefferson narrows his eyes and pulls away, humming. He digs his fingers into Alex’s ass and drags him forward so his ass hangs off the edge of the desk, held up by Jefferson alone. Alex yelps as his elbows give out and he crashes against the surface of desk, several of Jefferson’s pens digging into his back uncomfortably, but he forgets it all when Jefferson’s tongue laps against the rim of his hole, getting him wet. His breath hitches around a moan and he desperately wants to sink his hands into Jefferson’s hair, keep him there with his tongue pressed against him, but he’s too busy holding onto the edge of the desk in a white knuckled grip to stop himself from falling off.

Jefferson hums again and it vibrates through Alex, making him close his eyes and relax into it. Jefferson takes his time, making Alex squirm and reducing him into a panting mess, his dick dripping against his stomach as Jefferson teases his tongue around the rim, applies wet pressure but doesn’t actually press in. He can almost taste how amused Jefferson is in the air and to be fair Jefferson usually radiates smugness in waves and this isn’t that different, but Alex’s brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders right now.

He wiggles and whines, trying to get Jefferson’s tongue inside him, but the man just pulls back and presses kisses lightly on the inside of Alex’s thighs and then dives back in, licking across Alex’s hole in broad strokes which drive him insane. He does this three or so times before Alex snaps and digs his heels into Jefferson’s back, trying to drag him closer.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jefferson tuts, pulling away and letting go of Alex’s ass to wipe his mouth. His lips are red and shiny and his eyes are dark, pupils fully blown, watching Alex hungrily.

“You won’t get anything unless you ask nicely.”

Alex catches his meaning and thumps his head back against the desk, giving in almost immediately with little to no shame. “Please,” he begs, “Please, please, Thomas please give it to me.”

“What do you want, Alexander?” He licks a stripe up the underside of Alex’s cock and sucks hard on the head and then pulls off. “Use your words since you’re so smart,” he grins, feral.

“Your mouth,” Alex manages to grit out, bucking his hips into thin air.

Jefferson presses him down again. “How do you want my mouth?”

He presses kisses to the inside of Alex’s thighs, over his hole, up his cock. “Like this?” he asks, breathing warmly over the tip of Alex’s cock. “Or like this?” and he seals his mouth around Alex’s hole and sucks.

Alex wails like he’s been hurt, his hands scrabbling at the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. “Please,” he chants over and over, “Thomas, please.”

And when Jefferson became Thomas he doesn’t know but the man makes a pleased noise, and pulls back to lick his lips.

“I like it when you say my name,” he breathes and immediately dives back in, pushing his tongue into Alex and fucking him shallowly. Alex sobs, his cock throbbing with need, and Jefferson lets go of one ass cheek to sink his thumb into him as well, licking around the digit with his tongue and forcing Alex open further.

It’s wet and slick, messy, and Alex feels like he’s floating on his pleasure, utterly overwhelmed by it. He _never_ , not in a million years, imagined Jefferson would ever do this for him. Well, he’s imagined it, sure, alone in his bed or with his hand around his cock in the shower, but he never thought he’d actually _do_ it. Jefferson’s never helped him get off before, and there’s a tiny terrified part of him that fears Jefferson will leave him like this, open and panting, and just walk away, but there’s a bigger part of him that knows Jefferson can’t resist him like this, splayed out and begging for more.

Jefferson eventually pulls back though, breathing hard and leaving Alexander a trembling mess on top of the desk. He makes a noise of protest, pretty much the only sound he can muster at the moment, after Jefferson seems to have licked his brain out of his ass. Alex winces as he thinks that; his brain really must be scrambled if he’s managed to come up with that imagery.

Jefferson lifts Alex’s legs off his shoulders and moves away to rummage around in his desk drawers, for what Alex cannot fathom right now. He lets himself go limp, hazy and reeling from the pleasure coursing through his veins, every part of him singing with it. Jefferson returns and kneels between his legs, maneuvering Alex until he’s spread out fully, legs splayed wide like he’s asking for it. And he is, he’s _begging_ for it, but he bites his lip and asks for it with his body, not with his words.

 _I like it when you say my name_ , Jefferson had said. He wants to make Jefferson really _work_ for it.

A slick finger probes at his hole and he arches his back and groans, his eyes fluttering closed as Jefferson teases him.

“You keep lube in your desk?” he moans, hissing as Jefferson’s finger sinks in down to the second knuckle and twists inside him. “You do this often?”

“It pays to be prepared, obviously,” Jefferson murmurs, and a second finger joins the first. Alex is seized momentarily by the feeling, the slick fullness of it, the way Jefferson’s fingers feel so long and thick inside him. It’s better than anything he’s had before, anyone, and he thinks absently that he’s being ruined by this man.

“Never took you for a boy scout,” he gasps as Jefferson crooks his fingers and searches out that spot within him. He’s sweating and writhing against the desk, Jefferson’s dark eyes on him, watching him pant and moan brazenly. He smirks.

“I’m a good Southern boy,” he drags out and Alex yelps when his fingers graze across his prostate.

He scrabbles at the desk. “There’s no such thing,” he manages to bite out and Jefferson mercilessly presses his fingers into him, dragging the tips against Alex’s prostate and making him bite down on a scream.

Jefferson teases three fingers at his rim, dipping them in and stretching him, and Alex slips further down the desk. “This isn’t going to work,” he gasps.

Jefferson frowns, pushes the three fingers into him. Alex slips even further and Jefferson grunts under the weight he suddenly finds himself holding up.

“Okay, you might be right,” he mutters and pulls his fingers out.

Alex whines at the loss before his brain catches up with Jefferson’s words and he breathes out a high laugh. “I’m right? Did you just say that?”

Jefferson stands up and manhandles him onto his front so he’s pressed flush against the desk, bent over with his ass up like an invitation. Jefferson slaps his ass and Alex yelps and, embarrassingly, leans into it.

“Interesting,” Jefferson rumbles and smooths his palm over Alex’s ass cheek, giving him a another quick tap and Alex bites his lip to stop himself from moaning again. He feels like he’s giving too much away too soon, giving Jefferson too much leverage to use against him later, as the other man has barely made a sound, just watched silently as Alex fell apart under his clever fingers and tongue, but Alex is too far gone to care.

He hears the clanking of metal and reasons that Jefferson must be undoing his belt buckle, pulling out his thick cock to fuck Alex with. He moans and rocks against the surface of the desk, the slick wood offering him a friction that’s almost painful. It sharpens his mind enough to get his bearings and he takes long slow breaths and presses his cheek against the wood, revelling in the feel of the coolness against his flushed skin.

Jefferson moves around behind him, smoothing his fingers down Alex’s back and pulling his ass cheeks apart, exposing him to the air. Alex goes lax and lets him play as he pleases, taking a moment to breathe steadily and calm himself. His heart is racing at a horse's pace, galloping in his chest like it wants to escape. It’s half the physical rush, he knows, and the other half is something more shameful that burns low in his heart. He turns his head away when Jefferson brushes his hair off his cheek. Jefferson shushes him like he’s dealing with a petulant child, massaging the flesh of Alex’s ass cheeks.

“Don’t be like that,” he sighs. His broad of his palm slaps against Alex’s skin sharply and Alex cries out, eyes wide and tearing up, the keen sting of it being soothed somewhat by Jefferson’s fingers stroking over the skin, petting him almost. His other hand fists in Alex’s hair, pulling his head up off the desk so he’s staring at Jefferson’s stupid swivel chair. Whether it’s a pointed power play or not Alex doesn’t know, but he thinks it’s rather redundant as he’s already bent, naked, over Jefferson’s desk, open and willing, submissive to the last.

Jefferson takes his hands off him and Alex can’t help the whine that slips out but they return quickly, and Jefferson presses kisses against the skin at the nape of Alex’s neck. He shivers, his heart thumping hard at the gesture, but he’s distracted by the thick head of Jefferson’s cock pressing against his entrance.

“Thomas,” he groans, trying to grind back and get him inside.

“Patience, Alexander,” Jefferson moves his hands around Alex’s hips, hitches him up until he’s on his tip toes. His cock slides in a little, just an inch, just the tip, and they both groan. Jefferson catches his before Alex does and he clenches his muscles around him in retaliation, hoping to draw more noises out of him. He’s not disappointed when Jefferson hisses between his teeth and sinks more of his cock into Alex, moaning low in his chest.

“ _Thomas_ ,” Alex sobs, pushing his hips back and trying to get him to _fuck_ him, goddamnit. Jefferson laughs darkly and grips Alex’s hips harder, stopping him from squirming. He’s probably going to leave bruises, Alex thinks dazedly, and he feels a stab of satisfaction mingled with a bitter longing: to have these marks upon his skin always, to have Jefferson’s hands on his hips and press his fingers into the bruises, fitting his hand perfectly into the print. It’s ridiculous and he blinks through the ache in his chest, forcing his ass back against Jefferson and concentrating on how Jefferson groans lowly, from the chest.

He leans over Alex, his sweat slicked chest pressing against Alex’s back, and he takes vicious pleasure in the knowledge that this is effecting Jefferson just as much, as if his hard cock, huge inside him, wasn’t enough evidence.

“I want you to beg,” he whispers hot in Alex’s ear.

Alex almost rolls his eyes. “You always want me to beg. You know, it’s getting rather boring,” he snipes but his breath leaves him as Jefferson jerks his hips forwards briefly, sinking his cock in all the way, and then pulls out just as quickly, going back to teasing the head around Alex’s rim.

Alex groans at the indecency of it. “That’s not fair,” he whines, pushing his ass back.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jefferson tuts and slaps his cheek for his trouble. Alex rocks forwards on the balls of his feet, following the movement, and Jefferson rubs his thumb into the flesh like it’s a reward.

“Be good for me, Alexander,” he chides. “You know you want to be good, don’t you? The way you’d get down on your knees for me, the way you’d choke on my cock, swallow around it. You’d cry, but you’d keep going, because you want to be _good_.”

Alex sobs, screwing his eyes up and trying to gulp air into his lungs. He writhes under Jefferson’s body, stubbornly refusing to give in even as he begs with his body everything that his mouth withholds.

“Just say please,” Jefferson goads, pushing in an inch of his cock and then withdrawing. Alex curls his hands into fists against the grain of the desk and bites his fingernails into his palms.

“Say please, and I’ll give you everything you want,” and the head of his cock pushes in again, grinding shallowly inside him and making him whine. “You know you want it, Alexander.”

He kisses Alex’s ear, bites at the lobe. Alex jerks his hips, his dick rubbing against the wood and through the slick that his precum has dripped against the desk, smoothing the way.

“Thomas,” he pants, “Thomas, Thomas.”

“I like it when you say my name, but I’d like it even more if you said _please_.” He jerks his hips again and Alex rocks forward with the force of it, the tease, and something inside him snaps.

“ _P_ _lease_ ,” he cries, “Please, Thomas, please, please, please-”

“Good boy,” Jefferson whispers and he drives his cock deep into him, his balls slapping against Alex’s ass. The fullness of it knocks the breath out of him and he gasps and Jefferson rolls his hips, fucking him deeply, breathing into Alex’s ear.

“You’re so _tight_ ,” he moans and Alex arches his back up against him in response. “I knew you’d feel good around me, so hot, just begging for me to fuck you. Your ass is sucking my cock in just like your greedy little mouth did.”

Alex manages to laugh and wiggle against him. “You knew?” he asks incredulously. “You’ve thought about this?”

Jefferson snarls and fists a hand in his hair, yanking his head up. Alex grunts through the pain, Jefferson’s hips slapping against his ass and his hand tightening in his hair until it’s just this side of not-good.

Alex moans obscenely when Jefferson’s cock nails his prostate, his hips fucking forwards fast and hard, pushing Alex up the desk and grinding his cock against the wood. It’s loud and dirty and Jefferson pulls on his hair again, sharp, like a warning.

“Better be quiet, Alexander, or everyone will hear you,” he growls. “They’ll all hear you moaning for my cock like a filthy slut.”

“Make up your mind, Thomas. First you want me to beg and now you want to me to be quiet, honestly, you’re more indecisive than Burr.”

Jefferson fucks his hips into him brutally. “Don’t compare me to Burr,” he demands. “Don’t talk about Burr when my cock is up your ass.”

Alex almost chokes on his laughter at the absolute absurdness of it all. He’s being fucked over a desk by Thomas Jefferson, the man’s cock so far up his ass that he can almost taste it in the back of his throat, and they’re talking about _Aaron Burr_ of all people.

Jefferson picks up his pace, then, like he’s trying to make a point. It’s hard and brutal, his cock thrusting in and out ruthlessly, and it’s all Alex can do to scramble for any kind of hold on the desk and let himself be fucked. He rocks with the movement of Jefferson behind him, his cock sliding against the wood, the friction sweet but not quite enough.

“You gonna come like this?” Jefferson asks, twisting his hand in Alex’s hair and making him cry out. “Just from my cock, you gonna come?”

Alex whines and tightens his muscles around Jefferson’s dick. The other man groans and slaps him on the ass, and the pain sends sparks of intense pleasure up his spine. His cock throbs and he can feel that he’s close.

“Fuck, fuck,” he breathes. “Again.”

“So demanding, Alexander. Again? You want me to spank you? Will that get you off?”

Alex whimpers pathetically and pushes his ass back, presenting himself to Jefferson like a gift. “Again,” he insists and Jefferson laughs.

His palm smacks hot against Alex’s skin and he hisses, blinded momentarily by the combination of Jefferson’s thick cock sliding within him, his hips slapping against his ass, and the throb of the palm print he knows is reddening on his cheek.

“Again,” he begs, choking on his desire.

Jefferson slaps him again, quick and hard, one cheek and then the other. He tugs on Alex’s hair, dealing him another blow, and Alex whines pitifully.

“Fuck, fuck,” he chants, “Thomas, _please_.”

“Good boy,” Jefferson whispers in his ear, slamming his cock straight into Alex’s prostate and making his vision go white.

He rocks with the force of his orgasm, riding high on the rush of it. His spunk smears all over the desk and Jefferson’s still fucking him, rubbing his chest into it with the force of his thrusts. His mind goes blurry but it sharpens once again as oversensitivity kicks in and he hisses, pushing back against Jefferson and tightening his ass around his cock, trying to get him to come already.

Jefferson groans, low and needy, into the back of Alex’s neck and Alex shivers as he feels his cock pulse inside him, filling the condom. He wonders what it would feel like if Jefferson fucked him bare, came inside him and took his time licking it out of him until they’re both hard enough to go again, making him even more messy inside.

His whimper is a combination of his lust for the path his mind has decided to take him down and Jefferson pulling out of him, peeling himself off of Alex’s back and stepping away. Alex takes a moment to breathe, to pant into the wood of the desk and swallow around his dry throat. He knows he’s still naked, sprawled out across the desk, used and abused with Jefferson’s marks all over his ass and hips, but he doesn’t care. Let Jefferson take pictures if he likes, he’s going to bask in the afterglow of the moment as long as it lasts.

Eventually he unsticks himself from the desk, grimacing as his tacky come sticks to the hair under his belly button. He stretches and groans, feeling utterly satisfied, and Jefferson hums from somewhere behind him, probably watching. Alex smirks and sinks two fingers into himself, probing his open hole, and hears Jefferson’s breath catch behind him.

“Be careful or you’ll get another spanking sooner rather than later,” he drawls and Alex laughs breathily.

“Merry fucking Christmas to me,” he grins.

Jefferson throws his balled up clothes at him and Alex turns around to see him dump the used condom in the trash. He wrinkles his nose in distaste and Jefferson raises his eyebrows.

“What? You’d have me leave it out in the open for everyone to see?”

Alex raises his eyebrows right back at him and gestures to the desk. “And my come all over your desk isn’t a dead giveaway as to what just happened here?”

Jefferson frowns. “You’re going to have to clean that up,” he states.

Alex gapes at him. “ _I_ _’m_ going to clean it up? Where exactly do you get off?”

The smirk that appears on Jefferson’s face is shark-like. “Ah, but it was you who got off, wasn’t it? Made quite a mess too, didn’t you, Alexander?” He tuts and wags his finger in Alex’s face and Alex has to restrain himself from attempting to bite at it.

“If I’m cleaning that up then you’re driving me home,” he bargains.

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because thanks to you I now have a coffee machine to lug back to my flat, and I’ll be damned if I’m strapping it to my bike.” He smiles sweetly. “Plus, my flat has a bed, and you just promised me sooner rather than later.”

The smile that breaks across Jefferson’s face actually seems genuine, and his eyes soften just slightly before he turns away. Alex breathes in sharply and starts to get dressed, pulling the hair tie off his wrist and throwing his hair up, knowing it’s a lost cause trying to smooth it down after Jefferson’s been at it.

“Well hurry up,” Jefferson snaps, fully dressed and tapping his foot impatiently as he waits by the door. Alex glares at him, tugging his clothes on sharply and merely sighing when Jefferson points out that his sweater is on the wrong way around.

They slip back into the party mostly unnoticed, their colleagues too drunk and merry to really be aware of their surroundings, but Alex spies Laurens and Lafayette in the corner, licking dirtily into each others mouths. Alex blinks and decides not to question it, making a beeline for the coffee machine and unplugging it, gathering its considerable weight into his arms and following Jefferson out into the corridor. He’s gathered both of their bags, slung over his shoulder, while Alex fought his way through the crowd over to the coffee machine, and he’s got Alex’s box of coffee capsules tucked under his arm.

“What did you even get?” he wonders absently, out loud.

Jefferson rolls his eyes. “A giant fucking wheel of cheese. I don’t even _like_ cheese.”

Alex smirks, flashing him a quick wink. “I bet my ass was a better present than that.”

“Your ass is the best goddamn gift I’ve ever received Alexander, now get in the car so I can unwrap it all over again.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex snaps and grins as he listens to Jefferson’s breath hitch.

Oh, this is going to be one happy Christmas, he thinks and lets Jefferson press his palm against his lower back and guide him to the car. One very happy Christmas indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> i crammed a bunch of history facts into this. some are inaccurate (sorry john adams)
> 
> leave feedback. don't be a dick. if 95% of you don't leave feedback then i'll assume this fic is majority disliked, which i know is bullshit. authors deserve feedback. press the button.


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